Do you have the childhood memories that my brother and I share of having to eat liver and onions? My mother was a terrific cook who taught me almost everything I know about cooking. I can’t say enough about her innovative and healthy meals, especially since our father was a very British meat and potatoes man. But Mom fell down on liver. It was tough, dry, and tasteless. For years I avoided it like the plague.
Then I began to find recipes for flash frying it, treating it with lemon juice before cooking to remove the gamey taste, serving it with a sauce of lemon butter and sautéed onions. Suddenly I liked liver, though I never could find anyone to eat it with me. I thought about cooking it for myself, but you have to buy a pound and that was a bit much.
When Jean and I went tile shopping, I asked if she ate liver. “Sometimes. I’m not sure I like it. But Jim loves it.” So we settled on Saturday night supper of liver. When I confirmed the date, I asked, “Do you want me to change the menu?” “No, liver.”
So I fixed it tonight, served with German potato salad, green salad that Jean brought, and a fruit salad I cobbled together—peaches and cantaloupe are so sweet and good this time of year. And the liver? It was moist, tasty, delicious. I liked it a lot, but Jean and I split a piece, and I sent Jim home with half a lb. for his dinner tomorrow. Still it was a successful dinner, and I was glad to be cooking again after a hiatus.
Special good wishes to Morgan, my granddaughter who turns ten this week. She desperately wanted a hamster for her birthday, and her father finally relented. I sent some exercise assemblies for the critter, who is black and named, I think, Midnight. Morgan’s picture says it all about how happy she is.